


put your lips on my scars and teach me love

by bobbismrses



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Prostitution, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, So yeah, and that’s pretty much it, because don’t forget that lance hunter didn’t have a happy childhood and that in every universe, bobbi is a hooker, but some angst, lance is a merc, mostly fluff tbh, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:32:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13364775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobbismrses/pseuds/bobbismrses
Summary: "Looking for some company?"Lance whips his head around, nearly giving himself whiplash, and some of the tension bleeds out of him when he lays eyes on the girl leaning into the open window of his car. A bombshell blonde perched on heels high enough to put the Empire State Building to shame, with slate-blue eyes, short shorts, and a black lace see-through corset more tight than flattering.





	put your lips on my scars and teach me love

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn’t sure i’d post this but here we are +5k this is the longest thing i’ve ever written
> 
> i miss my babies but hey they’re gonna be together forever 
> 
> title fic taken “don’t you know” by jayme young

"Looking for some company?"

 

Lance whips his head around, nearly giving himself whiplash, and some of the tension bleeds out of him when he lays eyes on the girl leaning into the open window of his car. A bombshell blonde perched on heels high enough to put the Empire State Building to shame, with slate-blue eyes, short shorts, and a black lace see-through corset more tight than flattering.

 

"I'm good, thanks," he says, surprised when the words doesn't seize too much in his throat.

 

"I can make you feel even better," she offers, the sentence in itself a fucking cliché, as she presses her arms together to further enhance her cleavage. Lance winces and hangs his head, looking at the blood slicking his fingers as he weakly presses them to his side. "You're bleeding," Bobbi observes, all seductiveness suddenly gone from her tone.

 

"Yeah, thanks for the heads up," he grits out, always sarcastic bastard, even on the brink of death. He throws his head back with a pained growl and forces his eyes open despite the elephants sitting on his eyelids. He lets his head loll to the side and studies her face, etched with concern, not fear, and Lance heaves a sigh. "I'll live."

 

She's abruptly ripped away from his line of sight as a man grabs her arm, hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises on her skin, and spins her around.

 

"How much for you to get down on your knees, sweetheart?"

 

Bobbi quickly glances back at Lance over her shoulder, concern still lingering in her eyes. "Fifty."

 

"Only got twenty bucks on me," the man says as he shrugs nonchalantly, his voice raucous and his words slurred, and when he speaks Bobbi can see the moonlight glinting off his silver teeth. "Beggars can't exactly be choosers, ain't that right, beautiful?"

 

Bobbi plasters a tight smile on her face and nods, taking the bill from his hand and tucking it into the cup of her bra. Business hasn't exactly been flourishing, lately.

 

There's a loud bang and Bobbi twists her head around just in time to see Lance stumbling out of his car, a heavy waddle in his steps as he walks towards them.

 

"Get the fuck out of here," he hisses, pupils blown wide and eyes unfocused, and the only effort of speaking causes the pain to flare up. The man barks a laugh but it's cut short when Lance pulls a gun out from the waistband of his jeans. "Don't make me repeat myself."

 

The man holds up his hands, all colors draining from his face, and swallows thickly. "Bitch still got my money."

 

Lance flicks off the safety and the guy runs off in the same second, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste.

 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," reassures Lance as he lowers his gun, noticing the way Bobbi is anxiously fidgeting, fiddling with her own fingers as she stares at him. He dismantles the gun and shows her the empty magazine. "See? Empty."

 

Bobbi inhales deeply, and nods.

 

"Do you know how to use a needle?" he asks, wrinkling his nose to suppress a moan as he stows the empty weapon back where he took it.

 

"I—I patched a pair of jeans, once."

 

"Good, good, that's good," he whispers, his vision starting to swim dangerously, and he keeps losing one train of thought after the other, dizziness threatening to take him under any time soon. "That's— I'll pay you."

 

He blinks and when he opens his eyes again he's standing in front of a paper-thin door, a single bulb hanging from the ceiling bathing the hallway in cheap yellow light, and he growls as a thick veil of red pain envelops him. Bobbi fumbles with her keys, one arm looped around his waist, the tip of her fingers starting to go numb, before jamming the right one into the lock.

 

She pushes the door open and they stumble inside, Bobbi barely managing to keep him on his feet as he slips in and out of consciousness, eyes flickering like a damn Christmas tree. The bed creaks and dips as Lance plops down onto it, wiggling painfully until his back his pressed against the headboard.

 

Bobbi takes off her shoes and pulls her hair into a messy bun, staining some of her blonde locks red. "What, now?"

 

"First, you take a deep breath." She nods and draws in a long breath through her nose before exhaling slowly through her mouth. "Now, go get everything. Needle, thread, and— booze, if you've got."

 

She comes back as fast as she left, a sewing box tucked under her arm and half-empty bottle of vodka in her hand. She sits on the edge of the bed and helps him off with his jacket, wincing as he does. She grabs a pair of scissors from the box and cuts through his shirt, eyes widening when she sees the mess that is his chest; a red painted canvas, but not the kind you hang in a museum.

 

Lance huffs. "That bad, uh?"

 

"I— I don't think I can—"

 

"Hey, look at me," Lance orders, exhaustion making his every word sound whisper-soft, and Bobbi finally drags her eyes away from his abdomen, blinking up at him hesitantly. "Yes, you can, alright? You can."

 

Bobbi swallows heavily and finds herself agreeing. There's something warm in the brown of his eyes that inexplicably eases the ache clawing at her insides.

 

Lance forces a grim smile and takes the bottle of vodka from her hand. He twists the cap off and takes a long swig of it, face screwing up into a grimace as the liquid sets fire to his throat. Closing his eyes and steeling his nerves, he pours the cheap alcohol onto his wound, his free hand scrabbling for purchase on the bedsheets as pain explodes across his side.

 

"Pink? Really?" Lance breathes, voice strained, as he watches Bobbi slide the bright thread's end into the needle eye in one swift move. "Amazing."

 

Bobbi rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it’ll bring out your eyes.”

 

"Ever thought of doing career in medical?" he asks around a wet cough, and Bobbi lets out a short, bitter laugh. "You've got steady hands."

 

"In another life, maybe," she replies, bitterness staining her words and Lance mentally curses himself for his lack of tact. "You ready?"

 

He sets his jaw tight and nods. One second, he feels the needle dig into his skin, and the other, his eyes roll back into his head and everything plummets into darkness.

 

When he regains consciousness, it's broad daylight, sunshine filtering through the thin, see-through curtains and highlighting the dust particles floating around the room, and if it wasn't for the searing pain on his side, he'd actually appreciate the peacefulness.

 

"Look who's alive," Bobbi quips, folding her arms across her chest, as she leans her head against the wall, exhausted. Lance growls and squints his eyes.

 

"What happened?"

 

"You passed out," Bobbi explains, lifting one of her shoulders in a half-shrug. "Figured I'd let you sleep."

 

"You shouldn't have," he grumbles, scrubbing a hand down his face, and Bobbi rolls her eyes.

 

"Someone's grumpy in the morning."

 

Lance shoots her a glare. "I'm not— I'm not grumpy."

 

Bobbi shakes her head, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, but it quickly disappears when Lance pulls himself up into a sitting position, pain etching his features. He frowns and cocks an eyebrow in her direction when he notices the glass of orange juice on the nightstand.

 

"You've lost a lot of blood," she says, stating the obvious. "And that's all I've got."

 

"It's good, thanks," he says, already grateful for everything she's done for him, as he reaches for the glass and brings it to his chapped lips. "Would be better with vodka, though."

 

Bobbi scoffs. "Speaking of. You owe me a bottle."

 

"I owe you my life, actually," he says in all seriousness, and Bobbi looks down at her bare feet on the parquet floor, chin dipping in a humble nod as she tucks a flyway strand of hair behind her ear.

 

"What even happened to you?"

 

A muscle twitches in his jaw. "Bastard brought a knife into a gun fight." 

 

Bobbi notices a sudden gleam of amusement in his eyes and raises an eyebrow curiously. "What?"

 

"Nothing, it's just—," he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't even know your name."

 

"Yeah, didn't really have time for small talk, you know, with you dying and everything," Bobbi jokes and Lance laughs, hand coming up to his side when the movement pulls at his stitches. "Bobbi. Just Bobbi."

 

"Hunter," he shoots back as he scrambles awkwardly to his feet, fighting back a surge of nausea. "Just Hunter."

 

He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair and digs his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a stack of green bills. "Here," he says, handing it to Bobbi. "If that's more you want, I can always come back."

 

"No, that's— thank you," she says in a small voice, pursing her lips apologetically, as she takes the bills and secures them tightly between her fingers. "I— I really wish I could do that thing where I tell to keep it because it was the right thing to do but I— I need this money."

 

Lance waves his hand dismissively, brushing off her words. "Stop this, you fucking earned that money."

 

She looks up at him, mustering up a half-smile, and nods. "You sure you can drive?"

 

If he's honest with himself, he's not even sure he can slip back into his jacket on his own.

 

"Yes, ma'am," he chirps, his tone holding a hint of cockiness and an awful lot of recklessness. He walks towards the door and pauses as he reaches for the doorknob. "Take care of yourself, alright?"

 

"Says the guy I found bleeding out in his car."

 

Lance shakes his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his face breaks into a grin. "See you around."

 

**[THREE WEEKS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

There's a knock at the door, and the walls quietly vibrate and rattle around Bobbi. She races to open it, a goofy smile gracing her features as an army of butterflies spread their wings in her stomach. She swings the door open and Lance appears, wriggling a brown paper bag.

 

"Brought you breakfast."

 

Bobbi throws herself into his arms and fastens her arms around his neck, almost knocking them both down to the ground with the force of the impact. Lance tangles his fingers in her hair and lowers his mouth to hers, warm and soft. He tastes like black coffee and green mint, his stubble rubbing against her chin in the most wonderful way, and she laughs into his mouth.

 

"You're late," she points out, breathless, not even minding the fact that she's standing in the middle of the hallway in just a pair of boxer-briefs and a white tank top.

 

"I know," he hums, sweeping his thumb across her cheekbone. "Got stuck in traffic."

 

"I'm glad you could make it," she says softly, leaning in and pecking his lips, and she grins when Lance tries to follow after her, growling. She laces their fingers together and leads him inside, Lance closing the door behind them.

 

It's become a habit, really. They don't really know how, but it did. A routine of some sort. Lance shows up at her door with that shit-eating grin of his and a different breakfast everytime, and they always end up making out on the bed like a couple of horny teenagers, the rest of their fucked up world blurring around them.

 

Lance clears his throat and Bobbi cranes her head back to look at him, her smile faltering. "What is it?"

 

"I can't stay long."

 

Disappointment washes over her face but it quickly melts into something softer, something warmer. Something that makes Lance's heart flutter and sing in his chest. "You're going on a job?"

 

Lance bows his head sheepishly and nods, sighing softly under his breath. He closes the distance between them, his hands settling on the curve of her hips, and draws her against him. "Something like that, yeah."

 

Bobbi makes a face, pouting slightly, but eventually schools her expression into something more serious, more somber. "Just— don't die, alright?"

 

"Can't really promise you that, love," he says, squinting one eye shut. "People often like to shoot at me."

 

"That's probably because you shoot at them first."

 

Guilty as charged, Lance cocks his head to the side and nods. "Touché."

 

"Are you at least staying for breakfast?"

 

"Nah, it's all yours," he says, and Bobbi makes a noise between a growl and a whine, unhappy. "But I'm staying a little for some of—," he trails off, tipping her chin up and capturing her lips with his own, Bobbi moaning into his mouth as his tongue slides past the seam of her lips. "This."

 

Lance slides his hands down to the back of her thighs and lifts her off the floor, Bobbi squealing and simultaneously wrapping her legs around his waist. He walks her to the bed and collapses onto the mattress, bracing his palms on either side of her head just in time to keep his full weight from crushing her. She smiles warmly and threads her fingers through his hair, tugging him down for another kiss.

 

His mouth travels away from her lips and down her neck, scattering wet kisses across her skin. He hits one spot below her ear and Bobbi's body involuntarily twitches, her mouth falling open in a silent moan, and Lance eagerly repeats the action.

 

He nuzzles her sternum and sighs, dropping his forehead to her shoulder. "I left some money in the bag, too," he confesses, looking up at her sheepishly.

 

"Hunter—"

 

"I'd sleep better knowing you don't have to do anything with anyone for money while I'm gone!"

 

Bobbi shoots him a glare, one he's starting to become acquainted with, and she shakes her head. She wants things to be different with him. "You're one stubborn bastard, you know that?"

 

"You're not the first person to tell me that," he admits around a chuckle. "Although, it's kind of hot coming out of your mouth."

 

"How long will you be gone for?"

 

"Depends," he explains. "Two days, maybe three." Bobbi makes a noise of discontentment and he grins.

 

He's got someone to come back to, now.

 

**[TWO MONTHS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

"This is disgusting," Lance affirms, no real heat in his words, as Bobbi dips her fry in his vanilla milkshake and pops it into her mouth, eliciting a low growl from him.

 

She laughs and the yellow neon lights around them seem to shine brighter for a handful of seconds. "Don't knock it before you try it," she says as she picks up another fry and dunks it into the milkshake, biting her lip to conceal a smile as she offers it to him.

 

Lance grabs her wrist from across the table and brings it to his mouth, eating the fry straight out of her fingers. Bobbi raises an eyebrow, the corners of her lips quirking up into a cocky smirk, and he sighs defeatedly.

 

"It's— actually not that bad. It's even pretty good,” he admits but something quickly chases the proud grin off her face, and Lance's brows knit together. "What is it?"

 

Bobbi lifts one shoulder up in a half shrug and sighs sadly. "What are we doing? I mean—This. Us."

 

The question hangs heavy in the air and Lance's frown deepens, his mouth running dry. "What do you mean?"

 

"I'm not exactly girlfriend material."

 

They've been seeing each other back and forth for weeks, now, without actually putting a label on whatever it is. The midnight phone calls, the dinners in the early AM, the breakfasts at her place, the stolen kisses at his, and all the things in between. They don't exactly know what they are, but they sure as hell aren't nothing.

 

"You're joking right?" Lance asks, his tone holding a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You're beautiful, and funny, and smart, and—"

 

“And I whore myself for a living.”

 

Lance dusts his hands together to get the salt off his fingers and sighs, leaning back into his seat. "You do what you have to do to survive. Like the rest of us."

 

"Is this why we haven't fucked yet? Because you think sex is just a way of survival to me? A means to an end?"

 

He chokes on what seems to be his own saliva and glances around the diner, his cheeks coloring slightly as he notices the few faces looking in their direction.

 

"That's one way to put it, yeah."

 

"It's not," she reassures, reaching for his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Not if it's with you."

 

**[FOUR MONTHS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

"Oh, c'mon, it'll be fun," Lance says as he yanks his shirt up by the collar and tosses it somewhere across the ground, all the while toeing off his shoes.

 

"I'm not going in there," Bobbi says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're gonna freeze half to death."

 

A lake. Of all the places, he chose a fucking lake.

 

Bastard chuckles, fumbling with his belt buckle, and Bobbi rolls her eyes. Although, she can't deny how nice the view is as she watches him strip down to his underwear, the muscles of his back bunching and flexing as he shifts from one foot to the other.

 

"I love this place," he admits nostalgically, looking out over the lake and admiring the shimmer of silver moonlight gleaming on the dark water. "I used to come here often with my brother when I was a kid."

 

Bobbi frowns. "You never told me you had a brother."

 

A thick second of silence falls over them and Lance clears his throat, swallowing down the lump of emotion. "He died," he explains tightly. "I don't like to talk about it."

 

Bobbi's face crumples, and after a while her eyes finally dart up to his face. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

 

Lance cuts her off with a shake of his head and reaches up to cup her cheek, stroking the pad of his thumb over her lips and stopping the words right out of her mouth. "It was a long time ago. Now. Don't make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you into the water."

 

"I'd like to see you try," Bobbi challenges.

 

"Oh, is that so?"

 

She raises her eyebrows in a way that's half teasing, half questioning, as if waiting for him to chase after her, but Lance just purses his lips, giving her the best puppy-dog eyes. She rolls her eyes playfully and reaches back, untying the knot of her dress at the nape of her neck and letting it fall in a pool at her feet. Lance's cheeks grow warm when he sees what she's wearing underneath.

 

Or, more like, what she's not wearing.

 

"What?" she smiles innocently. "It's nothing you haven't seen before. And it's way too hot to wear a bra."

 

"Well, I'm just a man and you're fucking gorgeous." She's glowing, literally glowing. He can see her smile and blush even in the quasi pitch black darkness. It makes his heart swell and his boxers almost uncomfortably tight. "Shall we?"

 

Lance makes his way down to the edge of the lake first and Bobbi cackles when she hears him curse under his breath as he walks further into the water.

 

"Everything's alright over there, babe?"

 

He grumbles something before bracing himself and diving head first into the water. He comes out just as quickly, gasping for breath and shaking his hair like a wet dog, sending water droplets flying around him.

 

"C'mon, Bob," he whines, hitting the water around him like an impatient brat. "It's not that cold."

 

It is.

 

"Oh, and screw it," she mutters under her breath, trying not to give it too much thought, as she ventures into the water. "Fucking hell, Hunter! Not that cold?"

 

As soon as she's close enough, Lance wraps his arm around her middle and plants a wet kiss on her neck.

 

Alright, maybe it's not that bad, after all.

 

Bobbi spins around in his embrace, wrapping her legs around his waist, and kisses him.

 

"I have to say something," Lance says, breaking the kiss.

 

"I love you," she splutters out, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can stop them. Lance blinks quickly, his mouth hanging open as he studies her face. "Please, say something."

 

"You stole my line," he breathes out, before crashing his lips against hers in a bruising kiss, all teeth and tongues, and their bodies melting into each other. It takes everything he has in his power to pull away, resting his forehead against hers. "I fucking love you, too."

 

**[SIX MONTHS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

Lance steps out of the shower and wraps a towel low around his hips. He wipes the steam off the mirror with his hand and peers at his reflection, hating the person staring back at him. He sees failure in each of his scars, and he’s got a lot of them. Some are jagged and rigged, colorless puckered skin, like the cigarette burns on his arms and hands from his childhood, and others are still pink and shiny, vivid reminders. 

 

He digs his nails into his palms and crashes his fists against the glass, exhaling sharply as the pain quiets his mind a little. He twists his head around and shame burns heavy in his eyes when he sees Bobbi, her hair mussed from sleep and deep, genuine worry etching her features.

 

She crosses the threshold into the bathroom and runs to him, gently reaching for his injured hand but he yanks his arm away.

 

“Just go back to sleep, Bob,” he pleads quietly, bracing his arms on the edge of the sink and hanging his head.

 

Bobbi shakes her head and wraps her arms his waist, her cheeks pressed against his bare back. “You are not your enemy, Hunter,” she says firmly, despite her words being slightly muffled by his skin. “You hear me? You are not your enemy.”

 

Lance covers her hands with his and nods, something in his chest finally loosening up. He spins around in her embrace and locks eyes with her. “Didn’t mean to scare you, I’m sorry.”

 

She shrugs. “I don’t like sleeping without you, anyway.” Lance smiles, tired but genuine. “Now, let me see this hand, okay?”

 

She cradles his hand and bites her lip. It’s not as bad as it looks, but some shards got under his skin. She grabs a pair of tweezers and pulls them out one by one, and no matter how familiar she is with it now, she hates seeing him hurt. 

 

Lance tucks a flyaway strand of blond hair behind her ear with his free hand and stares down at her adoringly. “What would I do without you?”

 

He’s only known her for a few months, loved her for almost as long, but he already trusts her with this part of himself.

 

“Crash and burn,” Bobbi says almost matter of factly, the corner of her mouth curling up as she glances up at him. “And probably less laundry.”

 

**[EIGHT MONTHS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

Lance leans against the wall and shoves a handful of Coco Pops into his mouth, grinning as Bobbi goes through his old pictures. Most are from his time in the military and Bobbi cracks a smile every time she sees him in his uniform, his hair almost completely buzzed and the same grin he wears on his face like a badge of honor until this day.

 

“This one’s my favorite,” Bobbi says, tracing her finger gently over the old photograph. She can hear the sound of his laughter even through the creased paper, bright and loud. Lance raises an eyebrow and Bobbi flips the picture around, biting her lip to conceal a smile too big for her face.

 

Lance walks over to her and snatches the picture from her hand. “Remind me to burn this, later.”

 

A loud string of knocks on the door startles them both and Bobbi’s smile slides of her face. There’s a reason they don’t sleep at her place often.

 

“I got it,” Lance says, half-heartedly handing the picture back to her and pecking her lips. He doesn’t bother slipping into his hoodie, just tugs his sweatpants up higher around his hips. Whoever’s standing behind that door is going see a lot more than they bargained for. He looks through the peephole and opens the door a crack. “Yeah?”

 

A man, in his late fifties, fidgeting nervously as he keeps looking back over his shoulder like someone scared to be caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. “You almost done in there?”

 

Lance’s jaw tightens and his grip on the doorknob is white-bone. “Get the fuck out of here.”

 

The guy scoffs. “This ain’t the place for romance, mate, you get your dick wet and you get out.”

 

Lance grabs him by the collar of his jacket and slams him up against the wall. “Business’s closed. Spread the word,” he growls, venom lacing his words. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”

 

The man almost trips down the stairs on his hurry to leave and Lance makes a grating noise of content. He rests his forehead against the door for a few seconds before walking back inside. He meets Bobbi’s eyes and sighs, tiredly rubbing a finger between his brows as he leans his body against the door.

 

“How much longer, Hunter?” Bobbi shakes her head, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip in a attempt to swallow back her tears. “How much longer are you going to pretend that you’re okay with all this?”

 

“What do you want me to say, Bob? That it doesn’t bother me? That I like guys showing up at my girl’s door to fuck her? For what? Twenty bucks? Thirty? Because guess what? I fucking hate it.”

 

She doesn’t do that, anymore. Hasn’t in a while. He knows it. She knows he knows it. But he hates that her apartment is like a red cross on a map every time a pathetic excuse for a man remembers he’s got something to play with below the belt.

 

Bobbi swallows hard. “Do you hate me?”

 

Lance exhales deeply and crosses the distance between them. He cups his hand around the nap of her neck and Bobbi leans her forehead against his, closing her eyes. 

 

“I love you, Bob,” he murmurs, their lips just a breath away. “More than I thought I was capable of loving anything in this world, and you know that, right?”

 

Bobbi nods, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Right.”

 

**[TEN MONTHS AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

Lance's hips slam into hers one last time and she's gone, crying out something that sounds a lot like his name, but not quite, as pleasure washes over her in tidal waves.

 

Orgasms. He's always so keen on giving her those.

 

She blinks away the stars and fog, and looks down at him, a dopey, sleepy smile on her lips. His breathing is still warm and unsteady against her skin as he presses lazy kisses on the valley of her breasts, and she sighs softly, her body arching up his touch.

 

"Hi," she exhales out, carding her fingers through his hair, and he finally looks up.

 

"Hi." His hair is mussed and his cheeks are flushed, and he never looked so young and carefree. His after-sex face might be her favorite. "Was it good?"

 

Bobbi snorts. "You know it was, you just want to hear it."

 

"Damn right, I wanna hear it," he retorts, their limbs still tangled together under the clean, silky soft sheets of Lance's bed, and Bobbi rolls her eyes. "I wanna hear that I make you feel good."

 

"You do," she informs, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "More than you know."

 

"Oh, trust me, I know," he grins smugly. "I know how much you love that thing I do with my tongue. Drives you crazy."

 

Switching their position and flipping him on his back, Bobbi straddles his chest and pins his wrists on each side of his head. She lowers her face to his, her hair falling like a blonde curtain. "I'm serious."

 

"I know," Lance says, growing solemn, as he tucks her hair behind her ear and strokes the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone. "Same here."

 

"Same here?" Bobbi snorts. "How romantic."

 

Lance grins, running his hands up and down her thighs, and Bobbi shakes her head, a smile playing across her lips. She looks down at his chest and traces the familiar scar on his side, her fingers smoothing the rough skin, and Lance watches her with a pure look of adoration on his face, drinking in the sight in front of him. It's a nice picture, really. Bobbi, naked on top of him, the moonlight kissing every inch of her bare skin, as she counts his scars.

 

With her, he's not ashamed of the wreckage beneath his skin. He's not afraid of being vulnerable.

 

“Marry me,” he breathes out, the words falling from his lips like the most sincere prayer, and Bobbi looks up at him, her lips parting slightly as she draws a short intake of breath. She huffs a quiet laugh, averting her eyes as she tries to ignore the way her heart flutter in her chest.

 

“It’s the oxytocin and the endorphins talking, babe. You’re not thinking straight.”

 

“You’re way too clever for me,” Lance marvels aloud, his lips stretching into a proud smile. “C’mon, I’m serious. Marry me,” he repeats, bolting upright and winding his arms around her. “I know it sounds crazy and it is crazy, but I want this. All this. And not just now. I want it every day until I’m old, and fat, and chugging viagra. I love you and I love my life with you in it. I love having you naked in my arms and I love arguing about pizza toppings with you. I love everything about you.”

 

His apartment only feels like home when she’s sprawled out in bed his sheets and her absence takes up more place than she does.

 

Bobbi swallows, her eyes eyes bright with unshed tears. “So, you can do romance, uh?”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“What if it’s just a phase?” Bobbi shrugs, her mouth twisted in a bitter, joyless smile. “What if you think you want this now but one day you wake up and realize it was a mistake. You know who I was, what I used to do. You don’t want to be marry to that.”

 

“Sweetheart, I shoot people for money.”

 

“Bad people,” she corrects.

 

“Bad people,” he reiterates, his tone holding too much softness for what they’re talking about, and Bobbi sighs, leaning into his touch as his palm fits her cheek perfectly. “I fell in love in love with a strong, beautiful woman, who did what she had to do to survive, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

 

Bobbi smiles and Lance wipes her tears away with gentle hands, his face breaking out into a dimpled smile when he feels her lips moving beneath his fingers, softly kissing wherever she can reach.

 

It’s fucking insane. How much she wants this, now.

 

**[ONE YEAR AFTER FIRST MEETING]**

 

Daylight pours in through the windows and Bobbi’s eyes flutter open, a sleepy smile stretching across her lips as she sees the rock on her finger glinting in the sunshine. There’s still no big white dress hanging in a closet somewhere and no heartfelt vows have been exchanged yet, but the ring adds a weight on her finger that makes her heart jump in fear and anticipation at the same time.

 

She rolls over and drapes her arm over Lance’s chest, wiggling up against his side until her nose nuzzles his neck. She traces feather light patterns across his chest and stares up at him— the slope of his nose, the plump curve of his lips, the rosiness of his cheeks, all those things that make him _him_ and that make Bobbi fall in love a bit more everyday.

 

“Are you watching me sleep?” Lance asks, cracking one eye open, his voice a low, drowsy rumble, and Bobbi’s cheeks flush a bright pink. She slumps back onto her pillow and shakes her head, feigning innocence. 

 

“Nope.”

 

“You were, you so were,” Lance chuckles, wrapping his arm around her middle and biting the sensitive tendon of her shoulder. Her skin’s always so soft, he’s dozing off again when he feels Bobbi shift, slowly turning onto her side, careful not to jostle him too much, and facing him. “Don’t go.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, her fingers gently crawling into his hair, parting the soft curls.

 

She’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> don’t forget to leave feedback <3 (please give me some love)


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